


Two Dipshit Fags

by zuotian



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Bottom Cartman, Death, Dialogue Heavy, Love Confessions, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Public Sex, Thanksgiving, Theater - Freeform, christopher columbus - Freeform, top kenny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 06:18:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16382912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuotian/pseuds/zuotian
Summary: Cartman is back home on Thanksgiving break, and just wants to have sex with his best friend, Kenny. Unfortunately, they both get wrapped up in a plan for Grandpa Marsh's euthanization by means of community theater.





	Two Dipshit Fags

**Author's Note:**

> ALL CHARACTERS AND EVENTS IN THIS FANFICTION—EVEN THOSE BASED ON A REAL SHOW—ARE ENTIRELY GRATUITOUS. ALL CANONICAL DIALOGUE IS IMPERSONATED ... POORLY. THE FOLLOWING FANFICTION CONTAINS COARSE LANGUAGE AND DUE TO ITS CONTENT IT SHOULD NOT BE READ BY ANYONE.

Spending time alone with Kenny in any capacity was, at this point, rare. Cartman was looking forward to it, back home from Denver for Thanksgiving Break. He spent most of the day floundering under his mother’s affection, then met up with the guys after dinner, and the four of them stayed out well past twelve.

They ended up down by the river, sitting under the overpass which lead out of town. Kenny circled a ring of river rocks around a pile of trash, lit it on fire, and they all sat in a circle, like they were in a seance for their past.

Cartman sat straight across from Kyle, both of them bracketed by Kenny and Stan. It was their usual orientation. They were all pretty greased up already, riding the glow of their first night of debauchery together in months. It was a nice night out. They’d all forgotten how specific South Park’s weather was; it was a gasp of cold air, painful and invigorating.

Stan was saying the gasp of cold air part over the fire, chainsmoking with Kenny. He’d kickstarted the melancholy hour thirty minutes ago, when they stopped for breakfast platters at Denny’s, and his inner goth peeked out, bearing poetic lines.

Cartman rifled under some hobo’s empty stew cans and found a serrated lid.

“Here.” He handed it to Stan, who took it and flipped it around.

“What’s this for?”

“I was hoping you’d slit your wrists and shut up.”

Stan narrowed his eyes, but Kenny immediately tossed his head back and cackled like a hyena. Stan glanced at him, and started joining in with his dorky peals.

Kyle had been glaring at Cartman, but lightened up at Stan’s laughter, and looked back at the trash fire. For all his dickish posturing, Kyle seem relieved to be away from ivy league law school. He’d gotten in mostly on some Jew scholarship, and Cartman gave him affirmative action crap about it all the time.

“Speaking of poetry,” Kenny said, and started talking about some California girl’s flowery vagina. He had a cigarette between his fingers, gesturing the curves of her labia.

“And was her clit the flower bud?” Stan asked.

“You don’t know where the clitoris is,” Kyle said to him.

“The real surprising thing is, she could fit my whole arm,” Kenny said.

Stan’s mouth dropped open. Kyle grimaced.

Kenny slowly brought his fist up. “All the way into her uterus.”

“That’s a lie,” Kyle said.

“Well, she was definitely loose.” Kenny dropped his fist, and took another drag.

“Can I have one of those?” Cartman asked.

“I thought cigarettes were only for poor people and hipsters who can’t manage their money,” Kyle said.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t benefit from it.” Cartman held out his hand. “Come on Kenny, smokes.”

Kenny fished his Marlboros out of his pocket and handed Cartman a cigarette. “Here, take it.”

“Gotta light?”

“Use the fire,” Stan said.

“So I guess I’m the only loser now, right?” Kyle said.

Cartman tipped the end of his cigarette into the trash fire. “Duh.”

“I can give you one, if you want,” Stan said to Kyle.

“Stan, you’re asthmatic.”

“And you’re diabetic,” Cartman told Kyle. “We all have preexisting conditions, so what.”

“What’s yours?” Kyle asked.

“Being a genius.”

“He’s schizophrenic,” Kenny claimed.

“He’s psychotic,” Stan said.

Kenny smirked. “He’s super sonic, hypnotic.”

“I hate you guys!” Cartman took a long pull off his bummed cigarette, and ashed it halfway to the filter. “Kenny, I’m going to throw you in the fire.”

“Sweet.”

Kyle turned his fancy chronograph watch against the light from the flames. “It’s fucking four in the morning. Shit. Ike has this skit thing tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah,” Stan said. “How’s his performance art going?” Ike was an actor in public theater, but only participated in order to go off script and generally ruin the show.

“He’s supposed to be this Native American,” Kyle said.

“So an Indian,” Cartman said.

“No,” Kyle said. “But do you remember that kid, Firkle? He’s Christopher Columbus. Ike is gonna run and stab him.”

“Why would Columbus be at Thanksgiving? It was like one hundred fifty years after he set sail,” Stan said.

“Firkle is coming to my house, dude. Him and Ike plan all this stuff. He says it’s this huge statement about colonialism. And then Ike says, ‘We’re using two quarts of fake blood.’”

“I get it,” Cartman said. “Columbus isn’t worth jack shit in college. Even if it is the most indigenous.”

“Spear the motherfucker,” Kenny said.

“I think they’re a thing,” Kyle admitted, quieter than the crackling flames.

“What? Are they fucking?” Kenny asked.

Kyle frowned. “I walked in on them kissing once.”

“No shit,” Stan said.

“Make sure he’s not a demon soulsucking your brother,” Cartman said.

“He’s not that bad,” Stan argued.

“As if your opinion means anything,” Cartman said.

Kyle stood up. His boots stirred the dirt which disturbed the fire. A clump of garbage collapsed on itself in sparks.

“I have to go,” he said.

“Excuses!” Cartman shouted.

“Me too,” Stan said. “Shelley’s coming back tomorrow and we’re all gonna go see my grandpa.”

“How is he still alive?” Kenny asked.

“He’s as old as Columbus was on Thanksgiving,” Cartman said.

“He’s gonna beat the world record his next birthday,” Stan said.

“Maybe he should be in Ike’s show instead of Firkle,” Kenny suggested. He flopped onto his back, in the dirt. “So Ike can actually kill him. Your dad would love it. He hates Columbus.”

“That’s genius,” Cartman said.

Kenny smiled.

“Let’s stop talking about death,” Stan said.

Kyle kicked his side. “Come on, dude.”

Stan tossed his can lid into the trash embers and stood beside Kyle. “See ya, guys.”

“Kill your grandfather for me,” Cartman said.

But the two of them had already walked off.

The two left behind didn’t say anything. The fire was dead, and took priority. They stared at it for a few seconds, before moving.

Kenny craned back to grab a bag behind himself. He sat up with it in his lap, and pulled out a canister of lighter fluid, except it was refilled with gasoline. Meanwhile Cartman had assembled a new pile of trash. Kenny used his brother’s prized Zippo lighter to light it on fire.

They basked in the imminent flare, then slumped as it receded. Kenny flopped back down, and Cartman laid beside him.

“Glad they left,” Kenny said.

“I know,” Cartman agreed.

Kenny snorted, and pocketed Kevin’s silver lighter.

They planned on getting up at some point, but fell asleep like that. Next to each other out in the open cold, on the banks of a trash river.

When Cartman woke up, his sinuses were frozen and inflamed. The sun was hot on his cold body. Sometime in the night, Kenny and curled around his back for warmth. It obviously didn’t work. He felt miserable.

“Fucking asshole,” he shouted into Kenny’s ear.

Kenny yelped, and rolled away. His limbs spasmed upon activation, considering they’d been frozen still for hours.

“You fucking convinced me to sleep out here,” Cartman yelled. “When I have a van five feet away!”

He pointed, and there it was. Liane’s old minivan. Parked on the shoulder of the road uphill. Inside of it, all the back seats were down, leaving room for a blow up mattress, or whatever else. Cartman had a lot of stuff, and did a lot of things. Today, he had a blow up mattress in the back of his van.

“It was by the fire,” Kenny said futilely.

Cartman crawled toward him and shook his shoulders. “Get the fuck up! Come on. Where are the keys?”

“Up my ass!”

Cartman wrestled Kenny around until he could shove his hand into Kenny’s parka pocket. “Dickhead,” he said, and extracted his car keys.

“Haha,” Kenny said.

They got up and went to the van. Cartman blasted the heat and they laid on the air mattress in the back, to sleep their hangovers off. Once they were warm enough, Cartman cut the heat so the battery wouldn’t die; when he laid back down, Kenny suggested they get naked, for logistical reasons, so they did.

It was three in the afternoon when they woke up for the second time. Cartman didn’t feel as miserable, partly because Kenny’s naked body was plastered against his own. They didn’t do anything, but it was still nice being next to each other. It was oddly comforting. Cartman had forgotten how much so.

But nothing was obviously going to happen now. They were both only half-sober. Cartman convinced himself to leave their pallet of blankets to get dressed, then convinced Kenny to do the same. Their phones were dead, but the van’s clock said it was three thirty. Without anything better to do, they went back to Denny’s.

They walked in from the cold, wearing the same clothes from last night, only dirtier. Henrietta walked up to the hostess desk and got them menus.

“Welcome back,” she said without feeling.

“Dude, how long is your shift?” Kenny asked. She had previously served them at two in the morning.

“I’m off in thirty minutes. But I got extra hours. Do you know how expensive it is to be Ike and Firkle’s manager?”

“I forgot you’re in on it too.”

She walked them to a window booth. “The art is worth it. And we’re all killing ourselves anyway, you know. Might as well get paid for it.”

“I’ll have a coffee,” Cartman said. “With lots of refills.”

“I want chocolate milk,” Kenny said.

“Whatever,” Henrietta said.

She came back with their drinks. Cartman ordered a double burger and fries. Kenny got all-you-can-eat pancakes. Cartman smashed through his sandwich, then stole half of Kenny’s pancakes, which were replaced anyway. Kenny retaliated by chugging the rest of Cartman’s coffee.

“You’re gonna shit like crazy later,” Kenny said.

“So are you.”

Between the two of them, they left Henrietta a good tip. “It’s a donation to the arts,” Kenny said.

They got back in the van. Kenny rolled his window down and smoked a cigarette to aid in his digestion.

Just as Cartman was turning the van on, his phone rang. It was Stan.

“What?”

“Ike’s thing is in an hour, if you want to go.”

“We just saw Henrietta again at Denny’s.”

“She comes to every play,” Stan said.

“In that case, never mind.”

“Come on,” Stan said. “It’s actually kinda funny.”

“How’s your grandpa?” Cartman asked.

“Not dead.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Who is it?” Kenny asked, looking away from the window. “Is it Stan?”

“Yeah,” Cartman said. “About Ike’s anti-colonial stunt.”

“I wanna go,” Kenny said.

Cartman frowned.

“Who are you talking to?” Stan asked. “Are you still with Kenny?”

“We’re going,” Cartman told him, and hung up.

“Nice,” Kenny said.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“When does it start?”

“In an hour.”

“What are we gonna do for an hour?”

Cartman glanced at the back of the van. “I can think of something.”

Kenny tossed his cigarette out the window. “Okay.” He twisted around, climbed over the console and crawled onto the air mattress. “Let’s go.”

Cartman followed him with much more difficulty. They sat across from each other on the air mattress, staring. Kenny smirked. Cartman’s palms were starting to sweat.

“Don’t be so nervous,” Kenny said. “We’re just fucking in the Denny’s parking lot. It’s happened a thousand times before.”

“I know,” Cartman said.

“Then relax.”

“It’s just been awhile I guess.”

“So?”

“So did you really see that girl’s vagina in California?”

“Yeah. I didn’t have sex with her though, even though I planned on it. I just couldn’t. I told her I had early onset erectile dysfunction. But really she just wasn’t hot enough.”

“Why not?”

“She didn’t weigh three hundred pounds,” Kenny said.

“That’s not funny!”

“I like brunettes, and she was blonde.”

“Don’t give me that crap.”

“She wouldn’t do anal.”

Cartman’s face reddened, in anger and embarrassment. “Don’t break my balls.”

“Then unzip your pants and let me suck em,” Kenny said.

Cartman pressed his back against the side of the van. He took off his jacket and undid his fly. Kenny scooted forward and curled over his crotch, to tug his pants and boxers down.

Kenny licked his lips and pushed the fat hiding Cartman’s penis from him. There it was. Better than any Californian pussy.

Cartman hissed at the exposure to cold air. He clamped his hands over Kenny’s thin shoulders and gulped. “Don’t get shy about it,” he said.

“Sure,” Kenny said. He took Cartman’s balls in his mouth, rolled them back and forth with his tongue.

“Jesus Christ,” Cartman gasped. It’d been almost four months since he’d seen Kenny, since he’d been touched by anyone besides himself. “Stop. Stop it.”

Kenny lifted his head, drooling. “What?” he asked sharply.

“Let’s go someplace else. This is—this was a fucking stupid idea, dude.”

“You’re a pussy.”

“I want a real bed, goddamn it.”

“Okay, princess. Don’t move.”

Kenny hopped up to the front of the van and started driving. Cartman reeled against the wall at every crazy turn. They were parked someplace else in record time. Cartman had just gotten his pants back up when Kenny opened the back door.

They were in front of Cartman’s own house.

“This is my house,” he said.

“I know,” Kenny said. “Let’s go.”

They went inside. Cartman stepped around Kenny to listen for Liane. He peeked into the kitchen and didn’t find her. When he went upstairs he heard vague thumping noises from her bedroom door.

“She’s distracted,” he said, disdainfully. The thought of having sex the same time as his own mother, just down the hall, was enough of a boner kill.

Kenny came up behind him. “Perfect.”

“This is disgusting,” Cartman said.

“I think it’s kinda hot,” Kenny said. “I bet I can make you louder than your mom.”

“Screw you,” Cartman said. He shoved Kenny into his bedroom and locked the door behind them.

“You really wanna?” Kenny asked. He laughed and dodged when Cartman swung a fist at his shoulder. “Your foreplay is so weird.”

“You’re an asshole!”

“So are you, asshole. Why else would we be best friends?”

Cartman sat down on the edge of his bed, and sighed. “Are we, though?”

Kenny walked in between Cartman’s legs and rested his hands on Cartman’s wide thighs. “Are we what? Assholes?”

“You know what I mean, dickface.”

Kenny frowned. “Why do you think we aren’t best friends?”

“I’m not the one fucking girls in California!”

Kenny groaned. “I told you, I didn’t fuck that girl.”

“There had to be more girls.”

“There wasn’t! It’s all a lie, dude,” Kenny said.

“What?”

“I was only in California for one weekend,” Kenny admitted. “I lost all my cash. I didn’t tell that girl I had early onset erectile dysfunction. She actually got me with her feminine wiles and stole all my money.”

“So you WERE going to fuck her?” Cartman demanded.

“I didn’t get the chance! Are you listening? I had to hitchhike to Nevada. And then I had to have sex at a truck stop just to get through Utah to Denver. And then I panhandled till I got enough bus fare back to South Park. It took me like three weeks!”

“Wait, you were in Denver?” Cartman scowled. He was enrolled at the University of Denver for accounting and business. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because!” Kenny stepped back and crossed his arms. “You and Stan and Kyle were all off at COLLEGE. I thought I could leave somewhere too. California was just—random. There’s beaches, the sun and stuff. It was stupid.”

“First of all, you have no financial sense. You’re a poor piece of shit. I don’t know how you thought you could move half across the country. Second, you should’ve told me you were in Denver! You should’ve told me when you were in California!”

“And what,” Kenny asked, “have you ditch class to come pick me up three states away?”

“Kenny, I have a 3.8 GPA, and I’m never in fucking class! I’m a genius! I thought you of all people knew that! Do you think I really would give a shit?”

“Well, it’s not always about you!”

“So you’d rather prostitute yourself out to some Mormon truck driver, instead of asking me.”

“Yes,” Kenny said.

“Why?”

“I’m not going to—to do this with you—” Kenny gestured between them “—because I owe you anything!”

“You don’t have to owe me anything!”

“Bullshit. There’s always some collateral with you, Cartman.”

“The collateral is being my best friend!”

“What? I’m not...” Kenny’s brow furrowed. “Do you think this is some kind of deal between us? Is that what this is all about?”

“What else would it be?” Cartman asked.

“That’s what I’ve been avoiding this whole time,” Kenny said exasperatedly. “Your idea of friendship is pretty fucked up, dude. I gave you too much credit.” He sat beside Cartman on the bed, their shoulders touching. “Am I just some friend prostitute to you? This whole time?”

“I don’t know. I thought... I don’t know. I grew up with a prostitute as a mom, dude. I thought—I thought I was the prostitute, I guess.”

“Well, you’ve never been one to me. A Vietnamese hooker, though, for sure.”

Cartman pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we just—forget this conversation ever happened?”

Kenny shrugged, jostling Cartman’s side. “Sure. I mean—are you okay, now?”

“As long as you let me know when you’re going to California again.”

“I probably won’t go back. You’d hate it. Hippies everywhere.” Kenny rested his head on Cartman’s shoulder. “Anyways, I’m stuck in South Park forever, I think.”

“Stop saying crap like that,” Cartman said. “Just screw me already.”

Kenny grinned, lifted his chin, and pressed his lips against Cartman’s. Cartman whole body melted at the contact. They pulled apart. Cartman laid back on his bed. Kenny rolled on top of him, unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down. Cartman’s hips bucked when Kenny’s hand closed around his dick.

“Jesus,” Kenny laughed.

“It’s been four goddamn months,” Cartman said.

“What?” Kenny frowned down at him. “You mean...”

“I’m chaste,” Cartman said. “I’ve been saving myself for you, gaywad.”

“Holy shit,” Kenny said. He licked his lips. “I bet you’re tight as hell.”

“Only one way to find out. So get on with it.”

Kenny got on with it. He jacked Cartman’s dick till it was erect, then bent down to take it into his mouth. They moaned in tandem. Cartman’s hands scrabbled for Kenny’s blond hair; he clutched tight, pumping his hips against Kenny’s slobbering mouth.

“I missed you,” Cartman said, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Mffyootoo,” Kenny said. He pulled off and licked a stripe up Cartman’s shaft. “Saddled up, cowboy?”

“I have been!”

“Look at me,” Kenny ordered.

Cartman complied. The sight before him sent an electric shock to his scrotum. Kenny was smiling lewdly, precum slathered around his lips, hair in disarray over his bright blue eyes.

Cartman shut his eyes again. “I can’t, dude. I’m gonna blow my load.”

“Does that mean I’m pretty?” Kenny asked.

“You’re fucking hot.”

“Aww.” Kenny leaned over the bed and opened the side table drawer to get the lube. The bottle was leftover from the summer, half empty. He squirted a generous amount onto his hand, after encouraging Cartman’s legs apart. “When did you poop last?”

“I gave myself an enema yesterday morning.”

Kenny didn’t know if that was a joke or not, and let it slide. He breached Cartman’s asshole with one finger, to the first knuckle, and didn’t find any shit.

“I’m not a pussy,” Cartman huffed.

“You said it’s been four months,” Kenny reminded.

“Doesn’t mean I sewed my butt shut.”

Kenny pushed his finger in deeper. “What does it mean then?”

“You know what I mean,” Cartman grunted.

“We both thought we were each other’s prostitute.” Kenny stroked Cartman’s inner thigh with his free hand. “Come on. Talk to me. Do you fuck yourself?”

“Yes,” Cartman said, twisting his face away, into the bedsheets.

“Do you think of me?”

“Yes, you dick!”

Kenny giggled, crooked his first finger and slid a second in beside it. Cartman squealed.

“You sound like a pig,” Kenny said.

“Don’t start that. You sound like my grandparents. And my fucking eye doctor.”

“Hmm.” Kenny started scissoring Cartman’s anal tract. The soft flesh squeezed around his fingers. “I wanna climb into your ass,” he murmured, and shoved in a third finger.

“You’re crazy,” Cartman said, and bore down on Kenny’s hand. “You gotta put your cock in first.”

“Oh, right.”

Kenny removed his hand. “Stay still,” he said when Cartman whined. He lubed his dick up and and grabbed Cartman’s hefty love handles.

He bit his lip as he forced himself inside. Cartman’s legs quivered, wrapping around Kenny’s hips. Kenny shuddered, fully sheathed, and pressed his body flat against Cartman’s, locked in by Cartman’s legs. They started writhing against each other, a big sexy tangle.

Cartman’s face was still pressed into the mattress. Kenny’s pace turned brutal. He took Cartman’s jaw and forced Cartman to look up.

“Stop it,” Cartman said. “I told you—”

“I don’t care,” Kenny gasped, digging his nails into Cartman’s soft cheek. “Look at me when I fuck you.”

“Oh,” Cartman said, and blinked. His skin flushed down his face, to his neck, chest, and erection. Kenny almost wished he could break his spine and fold in half, to fuck and suck Cartman all at once. Instead, he shuffled forward to gain leverage, and smashed their mouths together.

Cartman’s arms came up around his shoulders. Now Kenny was totally coiled by all of Cartman’s limbs, while their tongues wrestled and Cartman’s butthole pulsated around Kenny’s penis.

They pressed closer together, like they could melt into one, or Cartman’s ass could suck Kenny up like a blackhole. It’d been too long, way too long—four months too long. Kenny didn’t know how he’d survive when Cartman went back to school. He’d have to buy off all of Mr. Slave’s sex toys, or something.

He was getting distracted. Sex did that to him. He’d hit a certain threshold and orbit out into space. Cartman’s body started seizing toward his climax; Kenny knew the signs. He rose up onto his knees and pulled Cartman’s ass flush against his pelvis, achieving maximum penetration.

Cartman moaned. It came up out of his dick, through his barrel chest. He sounded like a cow, some barn animal with rabies, cum gushing over them both. Kenny loved him.

“I love you,” Kenny said.

“I love you too,” Cartman said.

And it was really that simple, once they let it be.

Kenny slowed down as Cartman rode out the rest of his climax.

Cartman finally quieted, chest heaving. Sweat was dripping down his face. “What are you doing?”

“I’m—I don’t know.” Kenny smoothed his hands along Cartman’s sides, away from the bruises he left on Cartman’s hips.

“We’re not done,” Cartman said. Cartman squeezed around his dick, and he froze still.

“Okay,” Kenny gasped. “Ugh—fuck!”

It felt like Cartman’s ass was giving him a handjob. The dude had to have amazing anal plasticity, after an anal probe and everything. The walls of his butthole were undulating around Kenny like a goddamn king cobra. Kenny’s heart palpitated. He was going to have a heart attack and die, he thought, balls deep in his best friend.

Instead, he ejaculated. It spurred him back to action. He pistoned in and out of Cartman’s ass, yelling like Tarzan. They were definitely louder than Liane now, and whatever john she had down the hall. Kenny wouldn’t be surprised if the whole town heard them. He wanted to fuck Cartman on a jumbotron, or in the middle of a presidential address.

His dick spurted couple more times, until he was wrung dry. He pulled out and collapsed on top of Cartman’s giant, pillowy body.

Cartman turned so they were on their sides, and held Kenny against his chest. No matter how they fucked, Kenny was always the little spoon. Something about being wrapped up in three hundred pounds of sexy flesh just did something for him.

They laid like that for a few minutes, catching their breaths. Eventually, Kenny extracted himself and wiped the both of them off with the bedsheets. Cartman wrangled Kenny back against his chest afterward.

“I love you,” Kenny said again, because it felt nice to.

“Don’t jinx it,” Cartman muttered.

Just then, there was a knock at the bedroom door.

“Poopsiekins? Your friend Kyle is on the phone. He said he tried calling you.”

“Oh my god,” Cartman said.

Kenny chuckled and rolled off of him. Cartman stood, pulled his pants back up, and straightened his shirt.

He unlocked the door. Liane was standing in the hallway, wearing a robe that failed to hide her lingerie underneath. She poked her head into the room.

“Hi, Kenny! I figured it was you.”

“Hi, Mrs. Cartman,” Kenny said, half-naked on her son’s bed.

Cartman took the cordless phone from his mother’s hand and shut the door in her face.

“I fucking hate you guys,” he said into the receiver.

“Stan tried calling you four times,” Kyle said. “The show’s been on for ten minutes, fat boy! Where are you and Kenny?”

“Uhhh,” Cartman said.

Kyle paused. “Why are you out of breath?”

“Uhhh.”

“I can’t—I can’t believe this—”

“Oh, fuck off,” Cartman said. “I’m over this. Yeah. Kenny and I just had sex. But YOU’VE only had your head up Stan’s ASS since we were EIGHT years old—”

“Shut up! Just shut up, and get over here, okay? I don’t care. This means a lot to Ike.”

“Why do I care about your Canadian brother?”

“Look, Stan will explain when you get here. We need your help, okay?”

“With what?”

“He’ll tell you once you’re here!”

Kyle hung up.

Cartman threw the phone onto his nightstand. Kenny was sitting up in bed now, buttoning his pants.

“Are we late?” he asked.

“I don’t fucking know what they’re doing,” Cartman said, “except ruining my post-coital bliss!”

“Guess we’ll just have to get more coital later,” Kenny said.

They got to the community center within ten minutes. The main hall had been converted into a shitty theater, with stage in the middle surrounded by plastic chairs. Most of the chairs were empty. Cartman spotted Gerarld and Sheila in the second row; Henrietta was sitting in the back, wearing black now instead of her Denny’s uniform; and Stan’s dad was all the way up front excitedly sporting anti-Columbus attire.

Stan walked up to where Cartman and Kenny were loitering against the wall. “Hey.”

“Why is your dad here?” Kenny asked.

“Oh, I let him in on the secret,” Stan said. “Actually, we’re going with your idea, Kenny.”

Kenny frowned. “What?”

“So, I was at the retirement home, seeing my grandpa,” Stan began. “He’s actually in pretty rough shape. I was talking to my dad. And I said, ‘how would you feel if Grandpa died, to show that Columbus was a douchebag?’ I told him about Ike and Firkle’s whole performance art thing, and he was into it!”

“Why would he watch his own dad get killed?” Kenny asked.

“I guess he hates Columbus more than he loves Grandpa. He’s happy, Grandpa gets to die. It all works out.”

“I thought we found out it had to be natural,” Cartman said.

“What’s more natural than bringing your son ultimate joy?”

Cartman and Kenny glanced at each other.

“Well, where is the bastard?” Carmtan asked.

“Follow me,” Stan said.

They walked into a side room, where Ike, Kyle, and Firkle were putting a tricorn hat on Stan’s grandpa’s head. He was slumped in his electric chair, mostly a pile of wrinkled skin and barely operable organs, dressed in a doublet, tights and buckled shoes.

“Yeesh,” Cartman said at the sight of him.

“Let’s just get it over with,” Stan said.

“Don’t you have a problem with this?” Kenny asked.

Kyle turned around, and came to stand next to Stan. Stan looked at him, and then back at Kenny.

“Look, dude. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Grandpa doesn’t even call me Billy anymore. He doesn’t talk at all. Does a natural death have to mean a total loss of dignity? I mean, look at him. It’s his time. It’s been his time for awhile. At this point it’s just a drawn out prank from God or something.”

“I don’t want to look at him,” Cartman said.

“You need to help us create a diversion,” Kyle said. “We still need to get him ready, and Ike is supposed to go out like, right now.”

“Yeah,” Ike said, “shit.”

“Good luck,” Firkle said.

Ike walked out in a flourish of feathers and burlap.

“What are we supposed to do?” Cartman asked Kyle.

“I don’t know,” Kyle said. “You can think of something.”

Henrietta barged into the room.

“Fuck’s sake,” Stan said.

“Firkle!” she screeched. “You missed your cue. What the hell is going on? Why aren’t you in costume? Wait—” she pushed her way to Stan’s grandpa “—what the fuck is this?”

“Henrietta,” Firkle said, pointing to Kenny and Cartman, “you need to announce an intermission show for them.”

Henrietta blanched. “I’m not letting those posers cheapen our art!”

“Don’t you see?” Firkle took her hands. “This is going to be the best show yet! People are going to watch someone DIE, and they won’t even KNOW it!”

“Oh, my god.” Henrietta sized them up with a critical eye.

Kenny flashed her a cheeky smile. “It was my idea.”

Kyle walked past them all to look out the doorway. “Guys, we have to do this now.”

Henrietta threw her hands up. “Fine! Firkle—this better work out!”

“Trust them,” Firkle said.

“Yeah, trust me,” Kenny told her.

Henrietta steered them out by their shoulders, her head lowered between theirs. “I don’t care what you do,” she hissed. “The more avant garde, the better.”

“Do I look like a thespian?” Cartman asked.

“Apparently this was your boyfriend’s idea,” she said, “so fucking deal!”

They made it to the last row of chairs, and Henrietta released them. She shuffled up onto the stage, interrupting Ike’s line about corn seeds.

“Hey,” she yelled, “hey! We’re, uh, taking a short intermission to regroup our Thanksgiving cast. There have been, uh, changes in the script! In the meantime, please enjoy a performance by our two guest actors! This is a new, one-act play, called—‘Two Dipshit Fags!’”

She gestured at Kenny and Cartman to step up onstage, while Ike encouraged the rest of the cast offstage.

Kenny and Cartman stood in the middle of the community center’s one spotlight. A few audience members coughed. Cartman leaned into Kenny’s side.

“What are we gonna do,” he whispered.

“Uh,” Kenny said.

He entwined their hands.

Cartman tried jerking away, but Kenny held tight.

“Let’s fuck,” he said.

“Are you out of your mind?” Cartman asked.

“No. I’m in my mind, for the first time since I went to California.” Kenny turned to face Cartman fully, his back to the audience. “I love you, dude. Does it fucking matter?”

Cartman’s nostrils flared, his eyes searching Kenny’s. “On one condition.”

“What?”

“Move to Denver with me.”

“Are you serious?”

“It’s my sophomore year, I can get an apartment off campus. I want to get you out of here.”

“Where’s Columbus?” Randy shouted from the front row.

Kenny squeezed Cartman’s hand. “Do you really mean it?”

Cartman nodded. “I love you.”

Kenny threw himself against Cartman, and they toppled to the ground. Kenny slid under Cartman’s body. “Blow me,” he said.

“Oh—okay,” Cartman said. He forgot about the audience, and undid Kenny’s pants.

Kenny turned his head as Cartman swallowed his dick. The audience was silhouetted by the spotlight, transformed into faceless shadows. Cartman held Kenny down with his big hands, slurping like mad.

“Shit,” Kenny cursed, closing his eyes against the light.

Cartman lifted his head. “Look at me, bastard.”

Kenny did. Cartman’s jowls were covered in spit, his pupils were blown out, and his hat had slid off onto Kenny’s chest, revealing mousy hair.

“Shit,” Kenny repeated. He adjusted his elbows behind himself to sit up while Cartman went down on him again. He still wasn’t totally recovered from their first round, and knew this wouldn’t last long. He brought his legs around Cartman’s head, crossing his ankles behind Cartman’s neck.

Cartman grunted around his cock. The vibration made Kenny yelp. He pounded a fist against the stage floor and tossed his head back. “Fuck! Fucking—shit!”

He was cumming. Cartman gulped all of it down, disengaged from Kenny’s legs, and wiped his mouth.

Someone in the audience clapped. Then, another person joined in, and another, until it grew into a mediocre standing ovation.

“How novel!”

“So intelligent!”

Kenny smiled. Cartman started laughing. Henrietta came over, glaring furiously.

“Okay, the show is back on. Intermission ends now.” She kicked them offstage.

Cartman pulled Kenny against his side. They sat down in the back row, and watched as the original cast filed back onstage, followed by Stan’s grandpa. Stan and Kyle quickly laid a ramp down beside the stage so he could bumble over in his wheelchair.

Ike stood in the center, his burlap footwraps wet with Kenny’s cum and sweat. “Hark! A new foreigner has come upon our land!”

Stan encouraged his grandpa to wheel into the spotlight. In the dark behind him, Firkle enunciated his lines.

“It is I! Christopher Columbus, the original settler from 1492!”

“You?” Ike demanded. “You are the one who invited rapists and pillagers into our lives?”

“This is the new world,” Firkle announced.

“It is my world,” Ike retorted. “And you’re being indigenous!”

“Get that indigenous bastard,” Randy cheered.

Ike let out a battlecry, slapping his hand against his open mouth, and advanced with his spear. He pierced Stan’s grandpa in the chest; the blade of the spear burst through the back of the electric wheelchair, and blood spurted everywhere.

“Holy shit,” Kenny said.

Cartman pulled Kenny onto his lap. “I told you it was genius.”

Randy jumped from his seat, shouting. “Yeahh!!! Fuck you, Columbus! Fuck you!” He started stomping around his dying father.

Ike stepped back, so the spotlight fell onto his face. “And thus, the original propagator of colonialism is vanquished!”

The entire community center erupted in applause.

“Well, that’s that,” Kenny said.

Everyone filed outside. Stan and Kyle met up with the two of them on the sidewalk.

Stan was beaming. “My dad took it really well! And now my grandpa doesn’t have to suffer anymore.”

“What did you guys do out there?” Kyle asked them. “Henrietta says the crowd loved you.”

“Well, you know,” Kenny said, “I learned something today. Thanksgiving isn’t about Native Americans, or pilgrims, or even Christopher Columbus. It isn’t about being thankful for everything, either.” He faced Cartman, and smiled. “It’s about realizing what really matters—just one thing, something you’ve had all along, and being thankful you still have it.”

“And what’s that?” Kyle asked.

“Love,” Kenny said.

Cartman nodded. “Yep.”

“I don’t get it,” Stan said.

“Yeah, what the hell are you guys talking about?” Kyle asked.

“You guys just aren’t smart enough,” Kenny said.

“I think you’re just dipshits,” Stan said.

“Screw you guys,” Cartman said, and took Kenny’s hand. “We’re going home.”

**Author's Note:**

> been marathoning seasons 1-6, and wrote this over the course of a few days. i had a lot of fun. 
> 
> happy thanksgiving. kill your grandparents for me.


End file.
